"Part?" he exclaimed joyously--"Nay, not we, my friend! ... Not till we find each other tiresome, . . not till we prove that our spirits, like over-mettlesome steeds, do chafe and fret one another too rudely in the harness of custom, . . wherefore then, and then only, 'twill be time to break loose at a gallop, and seek each one a wider pasture-land! Meanwhile, here's to thee!"--and bending his handsome head he readily drank a deep draught of the proffered wine.. "May all the gods hold fast our bond of friendship!" And with a graceful salute he returned the jewelled cup half-empty. Theos at once drained off what yet remained within it, and then, leaning more confidentially over the Laureate's chair, he whispered: "Hast thou in very truth forgotten thy rashness of last night, Sah-luma? Surely thou must guess how unquiet I have been concerning thee! Tell me, . . was thy hot pursuit in vain? ... or.. didst thou discover the King?" "Peace!" and a quick frown darkened the smooth beauty of Sah-luma's face as he grasped Theos's arm hard to warn him into silence,--then forcing a smile he answered in the same low tone.. "'Twas not the King, . . it could not be! Thou wert mistaken ..." "Nay but," persisted Theos gently--"convince me of mine error! Didst thou overtake and steadily confront yon armed and muffled stranger?" "Not I!"--and Sah-luma shrugged his shoulders petulantly--"Sleep fell upon me suddenly when I left thee,--and methinks I must have wandered home like a shadow in a dream! Was I not drunk last night?--Aye!--and so in all likelihood wert thou! ... little could we be trusted to recognize either King or clown!"--He laughed,--then added--"Nevertheless I tell thee once again 'twas not the King, . . His Majesty hath too much at stake, to risk so dangerous a pleasantry!" Theos heard, but he was dissatisfied and ill at ease, . . Sah-luma's careless contentment increased his own disquietude. Just then a curious-looking personage entered the apartment,--a gray-haired, dwarfish negro, who carried slung across his back a large bundle, consisting of several neatly rolled-up pieces of linen, one of which he presently detached from the rest and set down before the Laureate, who in return gave him a silver coin, at the same time asking jestingly: "Is the news worth paying for to-day, Zibya?--or is it the same ill-written, clumsy chronicle of trumpery, common-place events?" Zibya, slipping the coin he had received into a wide leathern pouch which hung from his girdle, appeared to meditate a moment,--then he replied: